Fine-Feathered Death (16 page)

“My apologies, your majesties,” I said in pseudoabjection as I poured kitty kibble into their dishes.

I expected Harold home in another few days. I’d miss visiting his personable pussycats.

Same went for Alexander the pit bull. His owner would be back in town at the nether end of this week. I hadn’t many other pet-sitting clients lined up after lessening my availability.

Should I give up pet-sitting in favor of spending all my time as an attorney again? The thought made me sigh as I sat in my car after tending Alexander. I liked the soothing routine of tending to generally grateful nonhumans.

I aimed my Beamer for my own home—ostensibly to check on Beggar, since Russ Preesinger had called to say he was back on the road scouting locations. He’d left Rachel in charge, but wasn’t convinced he could count on her to care for his setter the way she should.

If Lexie had been parked at our apartment, I wouldn’t have had to go anywhere else that evening. But she’d been left at Jeff’s to keep Odin company. Kind of.

In some ways, it had been a conscious decision to convey to the private investigator of my dreams—who often kept me from sleeping at all—to assure him of my belief in his innocence.

It meant I’d have to go there tonight to at least retrieve Lexie . . . and after this weekend I figured it would be hard to head home. A good thing? Was I really putting the whole scenario about his ex-wife at the back of my mind?

If so, then why did it keep coming to the forefront to torment me?

I reached my home in the hills and pressed the button to open the gate. I drove inside and parked the Beamer in its regular spot, then headed for the house.

The door opened before I even got there. I anticipated I’d see Rachel.

Instead, I saw Russ. His sheepish grin seemed sweet and boyish, and I’d an impulse to ruffle his red hair.

Now, where had that come from?

“I thought you were out of town,” I said somewhat snappishly.

His grin was replaced by a sigh and an embarrassed shrug. “Running late,” he explained.

“Dad, I’ve given Beggar his dinner, but what does he get for dessert?” Rachel had slipped up behind Russ, and so had Beggar, who pushed his long red muzzle out the door and into my hand.

“Doggy dessert?” I asked.

“Of course,” Rachel replied, her brown eyes landing incredulously on me. “All good dogs should get special treats. You’re a pet-sitter. You should know that.”

“Dessert’s a people term,” I pointed out.

“For dogs, it means extra treats like biscuits or stuff like rawhide that they can eat, or anything that’s special but good for them.” Her superior air would have irritated me under other circumstances, but I kind of liked her comment.

“I do give my charges treats,” I told her, “but I’ve never called it dessert. Till now.”

That earned me a smile from my house’s subtenant and his pet-loving offspring. Enjoying their presence and attitude, I smiled back.

“Time for me to join Lexie,” I told them. “I left her at a pet-sitting assignment where I usually spend the night.” I didn’t explain that the pet owner was sometimes home on those same nights. I wasn’t sure I wanted Russ and Rachel Preesinger to know I had a kind-of relationship with Jeff.

And that made me extremely uneasy as I retrieved my Beamer and drove it toward Jeff’s Sherman Oaks abode.

 

ON THE WAY, I recalled I’d scheduled a meeting first thing in the morning with Michael Kleer, the VORPO attorney. But I’d neglected to tote a necessary part of the file along to review when I’d departed my office.

An excellent excuse not to go to Jeff’s till I’d cleared my mind a little more. If I couldn’t understand what was going on in my addled brain, I didn’t want to subject anyone else to my misguided mood.

I called Jeff. “I’ll be there a little late,” I said. “Have you taken care of the dogs?”

“They’ve been fed and walked, but they’ve been edgy. Guess they’re missing you.” A pause. “Me, too.”

“I’ll get there as soon as I can,” I said in a surly tone, then, much nicer, I finished, “They deserve dessert, you know. So do we.” I hung up before he could extract an explanation.

This time, when I saw lights on in the Yurick firm office, I was surprised. I soon discovered that the person present was Corrie Montez. “Surely Borden didn’t exclude the support staff from his promise that we’d have fun practicing law,” I told her when I found her inundated with work at her cubicle, files mounded all around her.

She smiled. Her big brown eyes drooped drowsily, and even her inevitable bright red lipstick looked as if it could stand refreshing. At least she was dressed down enough for late-night work, in faded jeans and a violet T-shirt. “I ought to get a life,” she acknowledged. “But I wanted to finish indexing this file so I can get to that research I promised you—on how animals can inherit from their deceased owner.”

“I appreciate it.” I perched my butt on the border of her desk. “But don’t kill yourself to do my work. I’ve assumed Borden’s attitude about practicing law.” Sort of. Old litigation habits lingered despite all excellent intentions. “We take cases we find interesting,” I continued, as if convincing myself, “and enjoy working on them without billing humongous numbers of hours like our big-firm counterparts.”

“I get it. Just a few more minutes, and I’ll log off.”

“Since it’s my stuff you’re working on, log on as long as you’d like.” I laughed.

She laughed, too. “I don’t need much sleep, but I promise to stop when I get too tired to take in what I’m reading. I can always come back early in the morning.”

“Bet your former firm loved that attitude,” I said. I had a sudden thought. Well, maybe not so sudden, considering where I’d been before, that day. “Speaking of megafirms and slave drivers, I visited your old employer earlier today.”

“Jambison & Jetts?” At my nod, she inquired, “Why?”

How disclosing should I decide to be with her? After all, she’d known Ezra Cossner well, which landed her on my suspect list—even though I couldn’t see Corrie offing her boss.

But to extract her reaction, I said, “Ostensibly, I was there to obtain whatever information I could on clients Ezra brought here, assuming they’d hang out with us. I didn’t succeed in getting a lot of low-down from the lawyers there.”

“But you had another reason to visit them?” She looked a little livelier now, and a lot more interested.

I nodded. “After learning that the feud between Jonathon Jetts and Ezra was somewhat fueled by a fight over a female, I wanted to meet that apparent vamp and assess Jonathon and her as possible murder suspects.”

Corrie blinked, then brought the edges of her mouth up into a sad-seeming grin. “Poor Ezra. I heard of your reputation of solving murders, but . . . Well, a lot of people didn’t like him. I don’t suppose you’ve figured out yet which of them killed him?”

“No, but I’m working on it,” I said. “What about you, Corrie?”

Her fingers rose defensively. “I honestly liked the guy. I wouldn’t have killed him.”

I’d purposely made my question ambiguous to see what her reaction would be—and I found it indubitably interesting. I hastened to act as if I’d erred in my phraseology. “I meant, do you know who killed him? I certainly don’t think you did it.” I punctuated my partly false statement with a laugh.

Her slim shoulders relaxed back into her desk chair. “That’s a relief,” she said. “And no, I don’t know who killed Ezra. I wish I did.”

So why did I have the sense that she was lying?

Chapter Fifteen

MY MIND WAS spinning around my conversation with Corrie when I edged into Ezra’s office to see how Gigi was getting along.

The moment the macaw saw me, she started squawking, but at least it wasn’t the worst of her shrieks with which she bombarded my eardrums this time.

Putting my purse down beside the open door, I let my mind lope down the list of suggestions Polly had made to calm and tame the ever-edgy bird. I squawked back at her as a distraction, but she kept chiming right in. I whistled, then sang several choruses about bottles of beer, but that only inspired her to grow even noisier. I even spoke soothingly, to no avail.

More drastic measures were required. I unlatched her cage door and shoved in my arm. “Step up, gorgeous girl,” I told her. This was the typical parrot command that Polly taught and included in her books—some of which she’d left here, so I’d scanned them.

I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, in a shade of blue that complemented the macaw’s colorfulness. To my surprise, Gigi did as I’d instructed. She soon sat on my shoulder, clamping her claws down, but not painfully. Did her squawks suddenly sound like purrs, or was that solely my optimistic imagination?

“You’re very welcome,” I said to her, assuming her sounds asserted thanks. “If you’re really good, I’ll let you come along with me, as long as I’m here.”

I walked around Ezra’s office, hoping that if Gigi got the urge to soar away, it’d be now, in this confined area. Since she made no indication of intending to ascend, I cracked open the office door.

Thankfully, she stayed on my shoulder as I gingerly edged down the hall toward my own Yurick digs. Once in my office, I closed the door. That way, Gigi would stay somewhat restrained should she change her mind and decide to fly. She scooted along my arm, and I wondered whether she’d maintain her bird balance when I bent to retrieve the files I’d come after.

No problem, for this nimble macaw.

Her weight on my arm and body was more substantial than I’d suspected, but heck, I shouldn’t have been surprised. She was far from a sissy-sized bird.

“How would you handle the VORPO matter?” I asked aloud as I thumbed through the pages of notes I’d jotted, copies of the client’s continuously changing site plans, and purchase and sale agreements for the properties already owned by T.O. I could see the per-square-foot price increase only slightly by agreement date, showing that T.O.’s strategy had succeeded in pulling the fleece over the property owners’ eyes . . . till now.

From what I gathered, the only two unsold lots left on the subject block of Vancino Boulevard were the home of Millie Franzel’s Pamperville Pet Place, and one owned by a company I hadn’t heard of: SkinFlint Associates. Sounded rather risqué for such an upscale area, assuming the emphasis was on “skin” and not the usual meaning of “skinflint.” I’d have to find out.

Perhaps it was time for a bloody field trip to the battle-ground the moment I had some extra time, which wouldn’t be before tomorrow’s VORPO-T.O. summit meeting.

I hadn’t intended to boot up my computer, but decided to anyway when my thoughts started thrusting out an assortment of strategies on how to handle VORPO—some feasible and some largely ludicrous. But even the wildest could lead to tamer, more tangible possibilities, given time and reflection.

With Gigi’s weight still perched steadily on my back and my subconscious smartly on the job, I opened a new file on my computer and let my fingers run free on all possibilities. I saved it and sent the pages to print.

And yawned.

Which was when I heard a cry from down the hall. I stood quickly, wondering what was going on. The last time I’d heard a scream in the night, it had emanated from the pretty blue being who still stood on my shoulder.

My office door burst open. Corrie flew in, and stopped, staring at me, her hands at her throat, her young, face pale. “Oh, there she is. Thank heavens! I went into Ezra’s office to see about Gigi, and she was gone.”

“We’re spending a little quality time together while I dig into some client files,” I told Corrie. Her grand entrance had excited Gigi, though, and the macaw let go of me and flew toward the door. “Close it!” I shouted.

Corrie complied, just in time.

“Okay,” I said with a relieved sigh. “Enough fun for one night. I’m too tired to read anyway. Gigi, it’s time for you to crawl back into your cage.”

I let Corrie take Gigi, but we all walked down the hall in unison to Ezra’s office.

“Here you are,” Corrie said to Gigi when we reached her cage. She put out her hand, and Gigi fluttered her wing feathers. “Step up,” said Corrie when her hand brought Gigi to her in-cage perch. Gigi complied without comment, and Corrie closed and latched the cage door.

“G’night, Gigi,” I said, realizing I sounded sleepy. “Are you calling it a day . . . er, night, too?” I asked Corrie.

“Pretty soon, but I’ve worked up momentum briefing some of Ezra’s client files and want to finish the one I’m working on so I can focus on your research tomorrow.”

“Thanks, but like I said—”

“I won’t overdo it on your account, I promise.” She grinned. “Even if I can’t finish your assignment.”

“I didn’t say
that,
” I admonished and smiled back.

We headed toward the office door. I said good night to Corrie and Gigi, picked up my purse, and retrieved the files from my office that I’d determined to scan once more. When I got outside to the Beamer, I pulled my cell phone from my purse, wondering if I should warn Jeff that I was on my way to his place.

In case Amanda was there . . .

No. If I caught them
in flagrante delicto,
that would make up my mind where my relationship with Jeff was going. Fast.

With the light on inside my Beamer, I noted I’d missed a call. I checked the message. It was Jeff.

“Okay,” I murmured to myself. “Now I’ve got an excuse to call him back.”

Which I did. Only this time
he
didn’t answer.

Heck.

I left a message on his machine and prepared to peel out of the parking lot toward his place. At least Lexie would be glad to see me. Odin, too. And, I hoped, Jeff.

Jeff. Oh, yeah. I remembered what he might have been calling about besides how much he missed me.

He’d requested that I search for his navy sport jacket, which he’d accidentally abandoned here the other day.